


driftwood

by meggiewrites



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Bernd is Bitter, Dysfunctional Relationships, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Marc is sometimes an Asshole, enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites/pseuds/meggiewrites
Summary: Bernd Leno hasn't talked to Marc-André ter Stegen ever since he got booted from the 2018 World Cup squad thanks to him. Now, he's back to the National Team and Marc wants to talk. It is up to a series of unfortunate events to determine if they can ever be something but rivals again.





	driftwood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jok32](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jok32/gifts).



> This is a long overdue gift for jok32 who won my 1000 followers giveaway on tumblr!! I changed the plot of this fic several times and in the end went with this; I hope you'll enjoy it!! (Also, I have never actually written a full-lenght Steno only fic, so I hope this is okay!
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual. But I did take my time to edit it ^^

The call-up for the National Team comes somewhat unexpectedly. Actually, after being booted from the World Cup squad, Bernd didn’t expect Jogi to call him back in the foreseeable future, not when Manuel, Marc and Kevin are right there, as well as some fresh new talent looming in the blurred background.

Not after his and Marc’s fallout this summer, not when everyone had been able to observe in plain sight how things between them had turned from okay to bad to worse, to a point where even Jogi, who is blind to the nuances of the interpersonal relationships between his players to a degree that is almost admirable, noticed it.

So yeah, Bernd really thought he was out. But then, Kevin fell ill, and Jogi called him to fill in for him. Despite Marc-André still being with the team. Despite their differences.

To be fair, Bernd knows that he won’t play a single minute. Not with Manuel still operating as the undisputed Number One, with Marc tight on his heels and ready to fight for that spot. But hey, it’s a few days he won’t have to spend alone in his apartment, at least. It’s great, even, seeing the lads again – Julian and Kai, especially. He’s missed them, he realizes, their energy and fresh, young spirit. But also the lot of them await him with open arms, as if this summer never happened, and suddenly it gets normal again to listen to Hummels and Müller’s chatter, to Reus bickering with Kroos and the youngsters and Süle and Rudy attached at the him.

At first, he manages to avoid Marc pretty well. But then, of course, there’s the fact that they’re both goalkeepers. Despite his best resolutions to stay calm, Marc still manages to get Bernd’s blood boiling, and the few times he catches the younger one staring at him, he realizes that it can’t be any different for him either. But then, there’s also something else in Marc’s eyes, something yearning, regretful.

Bernd grinds his teeth. Good.

Throughout the course of the entire first training session, the only thing stopping them from sniping at each other again openly are Andi's concerned glances and Manuel's confused but annoyed stares. Somehow, Bernd is glad for it, even if that doesn’t stop him from silently cackling at Marc whenever he fucks up a save, smirking at the icy gazes he receives in return.

For a moment, he really thinks he'd be able to return to London without really occupying himself too much with Marc-André ter Stegen.

But then, Marc waylays him after dinner and Bernd heaves a deep sigh.

He’s has been urging for them to meet up, ever since the summer ended, but Bernd doesn’t want anything to do with him. In fact, whenever he can help it, he tries to forget that they ever were anything else but rivals.

But now, Marc wants to talk.

Of course, Bernd doesn’t just change his mind like that. Instead, he hisses at Marc when he pulls him away by his sleeve, into a dark corner.

“What the fuck do you want, ter Stegen?”

Marc raises his eyebrows. “Back to last names now, is it?” He sighs. “You know exactly what I want. Why won’t you talk to me?”

Bernd scoffs. He doesn’t grace that with an answer. Instead, he yanks his arm away from Marc’s grip.

Talking about their issues and resolving them, his ass. Their relationship had always been defined by physicality, be it when they were teenagers and ended up at each other’s throat all the time, when they slowly became something akin to friends and started to learn each other both emotionally and physically, and when they were lovers and a single touch managed to undo every foul word that had been spewn.

No, their talking has always been limited to scoffing and thinly-veiled insults – affectionate or not – but they’d never been a couple to talk about their issues. They tried, and well. They both know how that ended. Bernd snorts.

“Nice try,” he says, before turning away and rushing down the hallway before Marc has a chance to stop him.

Of course, he doesn’t get the prick out of his head for the rest of the evening. He spends most of the evening texting back and forth with Mesut, who graciously and understandably does not want to talk about the National Team at all, but it only works as a distraction for so long. When he finally turns off his phone, placing it on is bedside table, he remembers how crestfallen Marc looked when he’d pulled away from him, remembers all the sad smiley faces he’d sent him over the months when Bernd had never replied to any of his messages … 

Bernd groans, pressing the bases of his hands onto his eyes.

When did he let ter Stegen get to him like this, he wonders, and laughs cynically when he realizes that it must have happened almost a decade ago.

Of course, sleep doesn’t come. Shortly before midnight, his eyes are close to slipping shut out of pure exhaustion, but then, there’s a knock on his door and once he shuffled over with his sweatpants off his hips, Bernd isn’t even surprised when he finds the idiot in question in front of his door.

He rubs his eyes.

“Again. What the fuck do you want?” He doesn’t sound as gruff as he’d like to.

“Just to talk.”

“I’m not letting you into my room.”

Bernd knows exactly where that would end – in bed. They would fuck, it would be fucking great, and then everything would be even shittier than before.

Marc sighs, then shrugs.

“Let’s go for a walk, then.”

It’s October, so it’s a fucking stupid idea.

Bernd wonders why he agrees to it anyway.

He’s grabbed a jacket from his bag – it’s surprisingly warm outside, but not warm enough to skip it – and somehow, they find themself by the river. Neither of them know the city very well, but it’s so close to their hotel that it’s hard to miss, really.

It’s almost creepily quiet. Apart from the far and in between lone car that passes by every few minutes and a few toads croaking, there’s nothing to be heart.

Despite Marc’s insistence, neither of them have started talking yet, and somehow Bernd finds that this isn’t terrible.

Of course, ter Stegen has to ruin it.

“I don’t know what you think happened in Russia, but it was never my intention to get you out of the team. I swear I thought it would be Kevin leaving us, I really did.”

Bernd’s laugh is dry, humourless.

“Really? And that’s also why you literally pushed me to my breaking point now, is it?”

Marc blinks. “Your breaking point?”

“Yes!! God, ter Stegen, don’t pretend to be dumber than you already are. What did you think would happen when you brag about being better than Manu in front of me all the time? When you compliment Kevin, but only have a slanted grin left for me? I get that you’ve managed to rise in priority above me, I get it. Not that I don’t hate it, mind you, but did you really have to rub it in my face like that? Like, just keeping up with our intimate relationship so you could uphold your professional dominance over me – it was a shit move, Marc. Really.”

Marc splutters. “You – what?! What does that even mean?!”

Bernd snorts. “You know what it means. We fucked cause we needed it. We got along cause Manu was there, keeping us in a vacuum. Back when he was still unchallenged, there was no need for us to butt heads any further. It was convenient. Keeping up with it when we started to compete again was stupid. And I hate you for persuading me still. And then that incident in the gardens happened …”

He still remembers it. All too well, actually. By the way he winces, Marc does too.

They’d been sitting together, him, Marc, Kevin and a few of the others. Somehow, they’d started discussing who they’d think would go home. Kevin had suggested that it’d be him, and Marc rubbed his chin.

“Well, you never know. After all, you’re good enough to keep around just for the fact that all the girls like to drool after you and the men think your girlfriend is hot. You’re good promo. And it’s not like Bernd matters to the team in any way.”

It had been a cocky line, delivered with uttermost confidence and a teasing smile.

Once upon a time, quips like that had been normal between them. But at that point, Bernd had really thought they were beyond it. At that point, he’d long allowed himself to  _ feel _ .

He was a fool to think that it was the same for Marc.

He isn’t proud of it, but he’s ready to admit that he was the first ready to throw a fist in that moment. He almost would have, if Julian didn’t hold him back. Unfortunately, in that moment, Jogi walked through the big double doors. And well, in that moment, Bernd’s fate was sealed.

He hasn’t actually talked to Marc – or their coach – since. Or well, not before this International Break came around.

“I’m–” Marc’s sentence gets caught off before he can even properly start it, knocking Bernd out of the dark memory lane that made him frown so much he could feel the lines forming on his forehead quite abruptly.

Marc has stumbled over a twig that has gotten caught in his foot, that he didn’t see in the darkness of the night. He’s the one walking closer to the edge, and since there’s no railing here, Bernd is ready to make a dry remark about taking care of not falling, but then it’s already to late.

Marc sways, tipping to the side – he tries to catch himself just as Bernd tries to grasp for his hands, but before either of them can do anything about it, he falls down, and Bernd just hears a loud ‘plop’.

The water must be cold, and Bernd realizes with panic and a quick look across the river that there’s no way for Marc to get out. Here, the river is encased by walls more than a meter high to protect the city from floods, and even if there are occasionally ladders and stairs, he really can’t spot any right then.

Marc, everything in his mind screams, Marc!!

He acts before he even has time to think about it. In retrospect, it’s quite possibly the stupidest thing he could have ever done, but as soon as he hears Marc’s body hit the surface of the water, he jumps after him.

He realizes way too late that swimming in an icy river with your clothes on, adrenaline and panic surging through your veins and a heavy current tugging at you is pretty impossible. At first, he doesn’t see anything, doesn’t even hear anything but the water gurgling and the blood rushing through his ears, but then his eyes adjust and he spots another lump a few meters ahead of him, kicking, spluttering.

Bernd wants to shout Marc’s name but he chokes on water, so instead he focuses on getting to him first. When he finally does reach him, he grabs for Marc’s arm, flinching when the other goalie swivels around to face him, almost hits him in the face in the process, eyes wide and panicked – he looks like a ghost, and Bernd is just glad he’s still conscious.

He wants to ask if Marc is alright, but even if he was able to form the words physically, he couldn’t. Instead, he just doesn’t let go of his arm.

Around them, everything is pitch black. For a second, Bernd wonders what happened to the street lights, but he quickly finds he’s too exhausted to care.

The river might look calm, but the currents are strong, and quickly, he doesn’t even know anymore which direction they came from. Marc clings to him like a deadweight, and just keeping their bodies above surface is a struggle. The river is still flanked by high walls, and Bernd tries to look for a ladder, a rope, a chain – anything that could help them get out. But there is nothing, and they just get carried further and further.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Marc gasps, suddenly starting to move his limbs again, institant, as if his spirits suddenly came back to him.

“Bernd, look!”

Bernd whips his head around as fast as he can. His neck hurts, and he can’t taste or smell anything but the dirty water anymore, but there it is.

A river bank, gravel and a line of trees, barely standing out against the darkness of the night. It’s only in this moment that Bernd notices the stars above them, the lack of a moon, the beauty of the night. Suddenly, it’s as if they were saved by a miracle.

When they drag their bruised and battered bodies onto the small pebble shore, it feels like anything but.

The stones dig into his back, and Bernd can feel them ripping holes into his shirt, grazing his calves. He realizes he must have lost one shoe, and he isn’t as sure as he should be if the liquid running down the side of his face is water or blood.

As he turns his head to the left, Marc doesn’t look much better.

There’s a bruise on his forehead that’s noticeable even in the dark. His arms are trembling, maybe still from the shock, but his eyes shine brightly. His chest is jumping and – is he laughing, that madman?

It only takes a little gurgle to slip out of Marc’s throat for Bernd to start chuckling too. And suddenly it’s bubbling out of him and he’s laugh at themselves, the absurdity of this situation. The fact that they somehow, miraculously, made it out pretty much fine. It feels like a relief, to laugh about it, even if to Bernd’s trembling heart, it makes no sense at all why any of this should be any kind of funny.

Neither of them say anything as they get up, and Bernd winces as he feels the rough gravel digging into the sole of his foot, cursing when he twists his ankle. Marc sends him a concerned look, and Bernd doesn’t dare pushing him away when he quickly wraps his arm around Bernd’s waist, steadying him.

They hobble to the line of trees that now seem like salvation, only to realize that it’s pitch black in midst of them. If Bernd didn’t feel Marc’s presence by his side, the heat of his body, he would probably think he was stuck inside a nightmare of his own making. As soon as they stepped into the forest, the roar of the river has gotten more quiet. Now, the only thing to be heard are the rustling of leaves, tiny footprints of what are hopefully only mice rustling around them, the wind in the treetops and the eerie quiet of the night.

Bernd only realizes he’s been holding his breath when they come out on the other side five minutes later, ready to see a road, a field, houses, anything–

But it’s none of all those that greets them, and instead they’re faced with another gravel shore disappearing into pitch-black water only a few steps ahead.

“It can’t be,” Marc whispers, his voice dry, desperate.

“We walked in a circle?!” Bernd is aware how shrill his voice sounds, and he can’t deny anymore that he’s at the end of his nerves, that he’s terrified.

He can’t see Marc rolling his eyes, but it’s easy to picture it.

“No, you idiot – we’re on an island!”

And so they were. After a few minutes of just wordlessly standing there, Marc lowers him to the ground. Bernd flinches when his ankle touches the cold stones, but luckily, the contact doesn’t hurt as much as he imagined to. Maybe he got away lucky there.

Marc casts him a look.

“You stay here, alright? I’ll check if there’s any way out.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Bernd grumbles, but he doesn’t protest when Marc turns around and hurries away.

He’s gone for a long time.

Bernd wonders what time it is, and after what feels like hours but must have been only a few minutes, he starts to freeze. He drags himself over the the treeline, finding it provides at least a tiny bit of shelter from the harsh wind. He knows he can’t fall asleep, not when he’s likely suffering from hypothermia, when Marc won’t find him if he isn’t there to call out for him –

Luckily, the idiot in question walks back into his field of view just before his eyes threaten to flutter close.

“Marc,” Bernd croaks, and it’s the first name he’s called him by his first name outside of his head ever since this summer.

Marc hurries over to him. “God, Leno. What the hell you doing?”

“‘m cold,” Bernd whimpers, hating how pathetic he sounds.

Marc touches his arm, then puts his hand flat on his chest. Bernd’s t-shirt still clings to his skin.

“No wonder. You feel like an icicle. C’mon.”

He hoists him up by his shoulders until Bernd is in an upright position, trying to pull the wet, heavy jacket off his torso before getting to work on his shirt. “It won’t help if you keep this on.”

Bernd coughs. “I’m not gonna strip!”

“Now is really not the time to be a prude, Bernd.”

“No I mean – I’ll freeze to death!”

Marc shakes his head, finishes undressing Bernd and then, with one swift move, pulls his own shirt over his head as well.

“Ever heard of body warmth? The clothes will only cool us down as long as they are wet. Here.”

Unceremoniously, he wraps his arms around Bernd’s torso, hugging him so tightly that Bernd can feel his entire face flush. At first, he just gapes, gasps, and then, reluctantly, he wraps his arms around Marc too.

It’s the first time in months they’ve been this close. Bernd hasn’t realized how much he misses it.

At first, he just relishes in his ex-lover’s touch, the closeness that he didn’t admit he’s craved for so long. But then he can feel his body getting warmer. Not actually warm, mind you, not comfortable, but – not dying. At peace.

Of course Marc has to interrupt the silence.

“Why the hell did you jump after me? That was pretty stupid, even for you.”

Bernd snorts, offendedly. “I saved your life, dipshit. Why don’t you say thank you instead.”

“Saved my life? Any reasonable person would have called the police, the firefighters or who knows who! Now we’re both stuck here!”

Bernd rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “Yeah, and if I didn’t, you’d be here all on your own, freezing, and who knows when or if they’d find you. So, is it really be that bad to have me here?”

Marc sighs. His hand ghosts over Bernd’s naked back, making him shiver. Suddenly, his grip becomes less tight, and it almost feels like an embrace instead of the desperate attempt for warmth that it is.

“I guess not.”

Bernd can’t fight the littlest smile that finds its way onto his lips.

Marc sighs again.

“So what do we do now?”

If he wasn’t holding on to Marc so closely, Bernd would have shrugged.

“I guess we wait for dawn and hope someone sees us? Or that a boat passes by, whatever. I really can’t see shit right now.”

Not even the shore, actually, and Marc confirms that it wasn’t better of the other side of their island. In the end, they manage to find a sheltered spot behind a few bushes, and a somewhat comfortable sleeping spot on a few dry leaves.

It’s the first time they’ve ever fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Bernd realizes just before he drifts away. Even before, they’d never really touched much after sex. Not for the first time he wonders if they were ever in love at all. But then, Marc snuggles into his arms, and Bernd can feel the regret scorching him. He wants this, he realizes. He has always wanted this.

His heart starts pounding when Marc places his head on his chest, his hair messy, shaggy.

It’s the last thing he sees before he falls asleep.

 

When he wakes up, it’s to his arms empty and his skin covered with little bumps. The wind has gotten less harsh, and the world is slowly turning into colours again.

Marc is nowhere to be seen. 

Or at least, so Bernd thinks until he squints towards the bright horizon, and spots the lone figure crouching at the shore, splashing his face with water. After staring at his back for three minutes, the play of the muscles that is so entrancing, Marc turns around, smiling when he sees Bernd’s eyes already on him.

“Morning,” he says, and Bernd can only nod dumbfoundedly.

It’s unbelievable that he managed to forget how attracted to this man he is. He realizes with horror that he wants to kiss him, to hold him, to never let him go again.

Prick.

Marc tilts his head. “What?”

Bernd harrumphs before pushing himself up to his feet. His ankle feels better, and when he looks down, he notices delightedly that there’s almost no swelling. If everything goes well, he should even be able to shove this foot into a football boot, still.

Wordlessly, he steps up to Marc, pulling him into his arms. He feels the other goalie freeze, much like he did last night when their roles were reversed, before he reciprocates the hug.

“What’s this for, then?” Marc mumbles into his chest, his shoulders strong and firm under Bernd’s hands.

Bernd shrugs. 

“Saving my life, I guess.”

He only gets a raised eyebrow in reply. “I thought you saved mine?”

Another shrug, then Bernd can feel a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s just say we’re even, alright.”

He can feel Marc grin.

“Deal.”

It takes another few minutes until the morning haze is lifted. The river is incredibly wide, and Bernd guesses they must be outside of the city’s borders by now, but the shore is only maybe a hundred meters away. Sure, there is a current running through it, but it looks doable after all. When Bernd turns to look at Marc, he realizes his – yeah, his what? Partner? Rival? Former and maybe future lover? Maybe all of it in one – must have had the same idea.

“Guess we’ll have to swim again, huh?”

The bruise on Marc’s face is a dark purple, and it makes him look almost a big rogue-ish when he smirks.

“I guess so.”

It takes a bit of a conscious effort, getting into the water again.

Bernd is still only wearing one shoe, and he despises the way his previously miraculously dry jacket gets soaked with water in a matter of seconds, but then he takes a few strokes, powerful, determinated, and he figures that this is better than the alternative. They end up a few more hundred meters downstream where they finally crawl out on the other side, looking like two very unfortunate birds who just got dipped into an oil field, but Bernd finds his smile mirrored on Marc’s face and–

He couldn’t tell who reached for the other first, who initiated the heated kiss that they exchange in a fervour of heat, damp clothes and the first rays of sun burning down on them.

They’re both out of breath when they finally separate, and Marc’s grin is wicked and hungry. He licks over his lips, and Bernd traces the movement with his eyes. He falters a bit when Marc extends his hand.

“Truce?”

Bernd sighs, then rolls his eyes. Marc’s grip is firm.

“Truce.”

 

They walk back to the street hand in hand, and really, it feels surprisingly normal considering one of them wears only one piece of footwear, they’ve only just somewhat resolved their relationship and that they’re both completely drenched and must look like the oddest pair to ever walk the earth.

They jump apart pretty quickly when they hear the car honk, but judging by the way she’s squinting, the tiny old lady pulling up next to them looks barely able to see what’s right in front of her face, never mind recognize the two wet sewer rats that they are as two renowned world-class goalies. Luckily, she takes pity on them after they tell her the story – or well, parts or it, at least – and agrees to take them back to the city.

Twenty minutes later, they leave her with a warm smile from Marc (that, Bernd admits begrudgingly, could probably make flowers bloom in winter) and a big thank you from Bernd, and then they tackle the last few hundred meters until they reach the hotel. It’s barely eight in the morning, and luckily, the streets in the quiet, affluent neighbourhood are mostly empty. At one point, they pass a man walking his black poodle who quickly changes the side of the road when he spots them, but other than that, they manage to go unnoticed.

The hotel concierge looks at them with a very disturbed look on her face, but thanks to Marc’s charming smile and the quick flashing of their room cards – that miraculously didn’t get lost during their little adventure – they manage to convince her to let them in either way, but it’s only when Marc promises her two free tickets to a Barcelona game, as well as the plane tickets to go along with it, that she lets them go without looking like she’ll inform Jogi of their nightly trip the second they’re out of sight.

In the end, they awkwardly stand in front Bernd’s hotel room, still dripping wet, decorating the light blue carpet with lovely dark stains.

Bernd shuffles his feet. His left one is covered in little bruises, and the ankle still looks slightly weird. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it will be a pain in the ass to train with.

He startles when he feels a familiar sensation against his cheek.

As he looks up, Marc pulls away looking almost guilty. Nevertheless, he doesn’t apologize for the peck. Instead, he smiles. It’s a small smile, half-there, half-insecure, but it manages to worm its way through to Bernd’s cold, tired heart, and he can’t help but return it until his cheeks hurt. Marc tilts his head.

“Go take a shower, ter Stegen. You stink.”

He cackles when Marc swats at his arm before turning around and heading down the corridor. He looks back over his shoulder just as he reaches his own door, and Bernd is there to meet his eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, they could be something again.

Maybe even more than they were before.

They aren’t the best at talking, and probably won’t ever be. They will always be rivals. But this night on the river, it made Bernd realize something. They’ve always thrived when they were together, be that pitted against each other or working alongside the other.

He won’t be able to stay away either way.

And at this point, he doesn’t want to.

 

(They turn up to training late, because they both overslept all on their own after succumbing to the temptation of a warm, soft bed, and be it only for an hour. 

Manuel eyes Bernd with a dubious look. Then, slowly, a smile creeps onto their captain’s face as he takes in the bruises on Bernd’s neck.

“You finally fucked it out, huh?” he says, looking all too pleased with himself.

Bernd doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the rough night they had is probably not the one he or they imagined. But after all, some things need to be left to the imagination.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I write FICTION about real people. None of this is intended to harm them or their reputation in any way. Please leave kudos and maybe a comment if you liked it! | [tumblr](http://manuelmueller.tumblr.com/)


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